Wind Tower

Wind Tower is a random encounter in Tales from the Tiers.

Transcript
You crest a rise in the road, revealing an expansive vista before you. The winds of Kyros' Edict of Storms howl through the Blade Grave, driving clouds of rust and grit through ravines gouged by the maelstrom. The arcane storm has twisted corroded iron and bronze into jagged formations that arc high above the land. In the distance, you espy through the tempest a barbed silhouette, unmoving against the horizon. It towers aside a shallow gully, offering a momentary respite from the gale. Approach it. Avoid it. By some combination of erosion and accretion, the structure is significantly narrower at its base than its apex, expanding upward like the bloom of an enormous alloyed tulip. As you approach, you catch sight of the bent remains of several banner poles, one of which even bears the tattered remnants of a standard, little more than a few dozen wispy threads whipping in the wind. Sensing the danger in exploring such an unstable structure, you give the tower a wide berth and continue on your journey. You hold a hand against the wind to get a better look at the formation. The arcane edifice rises above you, an overhanging plane of shattered detritus broken by the rare glimpse of bone or dried flesh. Desiccated strands of human organs dangle darkly, snapping in the wind like bullwhips. Empty eye sockets peer down at you from shadowed helms. Some of the metal looks salvageable. Alternatively, you could try ascending the tower by its jutting thorns. Having finished with the tower, you leave it behind and continue into the storm towards your destination. Examine the formation. Leave. Having finished with the tower, you leave it behind and continue into the storm towards your destination. Scrounge for salvage. Climb the thorns. You take a few hours to pry any loose metal you can find from the formation. The scrap comes away in broken blades, dagger tines, spear heads, dented plates of armor, and half-shields. You add it all to your supplies; you'll have it melted down into ingots when you next find a forge. Time dilates as you pull yourself higher, one hand after the other, and it feels like hours pass before you find an alcove deep enough to offer some respite. You climb into it, breathing heavily, and are surprised to find a large fissure among the rusted stalactites. You lower yourself into it and find yourself in a small, dim room illuminated only by the threads of daylight peaking in through the windswept metal spines. Smooth stones compose the floor, and the splintered remnants of wooden posts bear up the five corners. A sizable square opening, framed with worn wood and bearing a pair of broken hinges, is sunken into the floor near the far wall, descending into deeper darkness. You manage to climb your own height several times over when you place your hand directly on the edge of an axe. It bites into your flesh, and you lose your grip, slipping from the tower and plummeting to the stones below. You land on your arm with a resounding crack audible even against the wind. Tightly gripping the curved spines above you, you raise your feet and find some purchase with your boots. As you pull yourself up, your back and forearms ache. Cradling your arm to your chest, you manage yourself to your feet and stumble back towards the road and your destination. Cradling your arm to your chest, you manage yourself to your feet and stumble back towards the road and your destination. Lower yourself into the dark. You drop a torch into the hole and, when nothing hostile responds, gingerly lower yourself through the door. Your feet find purchase on a ladder of holds cut into the stone, allowing you to climb easily down. After retrieving the torch, you discover yourself within a quiet pentagonal room sheltered from the Edict raging outside. Judging from the shuttered arrow slots, the rack of verdigris-coated weapons, and the empty armor stands, this was once a watch post of old Stalwart. The scents of decay and old feces permeate the air. "This must be what it smells like to be Barik," Verse mutters. Search the ruin. For the most part, the room is disappointingly barren. A table stands against one wall with some simple, dust-coated dishes. Clothes are piled under some moth-eaten hammocks. As you pass your torch over one corner, you find the jumbled remains of a watchman. The broken bones and disarray of the skeleton suggests a violent demise. As do the human-sized teeth marks. Prize in hand, you leave the tower and continue towards your destination. The body is folded over an old war axe. You brush the dust from the handle and find the wood intricately worked in the ocean iconography so common to the Tiers. Taking the weapon's haft in both hands, you pull it from the dead man's abdomen. You're rewarded with an iron-headed axe of unusual quality. The preternaturally sharp blade reflects (or perhaps glows with) a faint green light. Draped in tattered rags and crawling with insects, the corpse is folded over an old war axe, notched and corroded. It seems whatever of value has long since been pillaged by moths and rot. Prize in hand, you leave the tower and continue towards your destination. Finally, you see a corpse in the corner furthest from the entrance, its leathery skin largely intact save for the gaping wound in its abdomen from which long-dried organs spilled and congealed into a single mass. Continue... Continue... Continue... Continue... Continue... Continue...